


Wishful Thinking

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Chandler denying his feelings, Hand Job, Kent admiring Chandler, M/M, bravery of alcohol, just a one off, not exactly getting together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dutch courage can work wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Досужие домыслы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966238) by [FoggyFeline71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggyFeline71/pseuds/FoggyFeline71)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Досужие домыслы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12438690) by [FoggyFeline71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggyFeline71/pseuds/FoggyFeline71)



> Written as a birthday present for the lovely sandrine. Takes place at the beginning of 201.
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2010.

The speeches are still ages away and Kent is feeling hot and bothered. It's not just the wine – though he has been drinking more of that than usual (the one that Chandler picked, naturally), but it's Chandler too. He doesn't even look all that dressed up, not like some of the higher ups in the room, it's just _effortless_. The style he has, the way he holds himself.

Kent thinks he's probably making a fool of himself, but then that's nothing new. He offers Chandler another drink and the other man nods, eyes barely scanning over Kent as Kent pours the drink. He muffles his disappointment and looks away. Until Chandler's fingers brush against his on the stem of the wine glass and he nearly drops the bottle of wine. And wouldn't the others like _that_.

Probably just an accident he thinks. Until Chandler's foot brushes against his own. Then he nearly chokes on his wine and Miles shoots him that look, the one he reserves for idiotic policemen, that says he knows what you're thinking and you better stop thinking it right now.

He looks over at the DI but he's looking around the room, pointedly not looking at him. Kent does the same then, realising that he's staring. And there it is again, unmistakable this time.

Emboldened, by drink or adrenaline or sheer folly, Kent stands up. “I'm going to the toilet,” he announces to the table at large.

“What do you want, someone to wipe your arse?” Miles asks.

Kent aims for a nonchalant shrug and heads off. He's fairly certain Chandler is watching him.

He thanks his lucky stars that the toilets are empty when he gets there and then takes a moment to wonder just what the hell he's thinking. Or what he's hoping for.

The door squeaks behind him and it takes what little shred of dignity he has left not to flinch.

“Kent,” Chandler says from behind him, no inflection in his voice.

“Sir,” Kent replies softly. “I'm -” He stops. There really is no easy way to start a conversation with your superior officer in a toilet. Not when any one of their colleagues could come in.

“Stop thinking, and don't turn around,” Chandler orders. Then he's pushing Kent forward, until his forehead drops against the cold tiles in front of him, and his hands are moving around Kent's waist, pulling his shirt free and then moving to undo his belt. Kent moves to help but Chandler bats his hands away and then forces him roughly to spread his legs like any common criminal they'd want to frisk.

If it's possible he goes even harder.

“Don't move,” Chandler growls into his ear and he pants as an affirmative, any hope of forming actual words long gone.

Then Chandler's firm fingers are wrapping their way around his erection, moving with a practised, calculated ease that surprises Kent, fumbling as his own attempts at similar have always been. He gasps as Chandler speeds up his movements and presses himself against Kent's back. Kent just has a moment to push back tentatively at Chandler's own erection before he's coming, spattering the wall and Chandler's hand with his come.

Everything whites out for a moment, not even long enough for him to get over the embarrassment of how quickly it's all over and when Kent comes back to himself Chandler has moved away to the sinks.

“Don't move,” Chandler admonishes him as he tries to turn around and Kent automatically stills. Waiting.

He hears Chandler wash his hands for exactly two minutes (he counts) and then hears him move towards the door. The man's self-control is amazing, Kent thinks, as it becomes clear he's not going to even finish himself off.

“This – it's just a one off,” Chandler says, sounding a little hesitant now. “It's not something I do...It never happened.” Kent is very glad that he can't see the other man's face.

“Okay,” Kent says when he realises that Chandler is actually waiting for an answer.

Then the door squeaks and Chandler leaves. And Kent has to hurriedly clean himself up and get back to the table, prepared to take whatever ribbing the others hand out for having taken so long.

But for the moment his head is still resting against the wall, a soft thrum in his veins and the hesitancy in Chandler's words giving him hope that he can have what he wants for once. He is, after all, a patient man. And Chandler can't say no forever.

Not now they've taken the first step.


End file.
